nventions. They are too diabolical! They imperil my
cause!

SAGE (_pointing to the crystal_). Look again, Sire.

POTENTATE (_gazing into the crystal, and in a low and agonized
voice_). Time with his scythe raised menacingly against me.
(_Abruptly_) This is a trickery, Sirrah! Have a care! But I will not
be tricked. Are my troops not brave? Are they not invincible? Can they
not win by their proven valour? Who can stand against them, for the
strength of the Lord is in their right hands?

(_Enter GENERAL hastily_)

GENERAL. Sire.... (_He starts, and stops short_).

POTENTATE (_testily_). Go on, go on. What is it?

GENERAL. Sire, the English counterattack has for the moment succeeded.
Infuriated by their defeat they fought so that no man could resist
them. They have regained the trenches they had lost, but we hope to
attack again to-morrow, when--

POTENTATE. Enough! Leave me!

(_The_ GENERAL _withdraws, and the_ POTENTATE _leans forward
with his head on his hands._)

SAGE (_commiseratingly_). Apparently other troops are brave besides
your own, Sire!

POTENTATE (_brokenly_). The cowards! The cowards! Five nations against
three! Alas, my poor Prussians!

SAGE. If you will look once more into the crystal, Sire, I think you
will see something that will interest you.

(_The_ POTENTATE _takes the crystal again, but without
confidence._)

POTENTATE (_in a slow recitative_). A stricken field by night. The
dead lie everywhere, German and English, side by side. But all are not
dead. Some are but wounded. They help one another. Prussian and Briton
help one another, with painful smiles on their white faces. What? Have
they forgotten their hate? My Prussians! Can you so soon forget? I
mourn for you! But who are these? White figures, vague, elusive! See,
they seem to come down from above. They are carrying away the souls
of my Prussians! And of the accursed English! What! One Paradise for
both! Impossible! And who is that watching? He who with a smile so
loving, and yet so stern ... Ah!... My God ... no!... not I....

(_The_ POTENTATE _rises with a strangled cry, and sinks into
his chair a nerveless wreck. The_ SAGE _watches coolly, with a
cynical smile._)

SAGE. So, Sire, you must find room for the English in that kingdom of
yours and God's! Perchance it is more catholic than we had thought!

(_The_ POTENTATE _groans._)

SAGE. Sire, you have seen some truth to-night. Is courage